


Delight Overtaking

by TheWorldisQuietHere (orphan_account)



Category: Date or Die (Video Game)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Femdom, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I couldn't handle proofreading this I'm sorry for the errors, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Host Trash, My First Smut, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Present Tense, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheWorldisQuietHere
Summary: You could get used to this, seeing the Host writhe beneath you like the pathetic scum he is.link toprologuelink topilot episode(older than the prologue)play the pilot episode's host route before reading this? idk am i doing too much?? probably?? it's my first fic in a long time and my first smut if you can even call it that and i'm not entirely experienced in this departmentplease teach me how to tag appropriately





	Delight Overtaking

**Author's Note:**

> hey so Date or Die seems like one bombass visual novel and its the first vn i've been willing to drop cash on since the disappointment that was Nameless.  
> link to [prologue](https://arden.itch.io/date-or-die-prologue)  
> link to [pilot episode](https://arden.itch.io/demo-or-die) (older than the prologue)  
> i kind of recommend you play the pilot episode's host route before reading this? idk am i doing too much?? probably??  
> this is my first [smut?? lemon??] and the first fanfic ive published in a LONG TIME

You could get used to this, seeing the Host writhe beneath you like the pathetic scum he is.

You lace his bow tie around his porcelain neck, and pace around to the back of his chair so you can pull him tightly back. Because of how low and how loosely he hung his head, it sends his neck snapping back, and he bangs into the chair but not before briefly locking his starry eyes with yours.

The Host lets out a pleased sigh, moving his lips so slightly you can barely tell whether he mouthed ' _yes'_  or an awfully weak ' _thank you'._

You circle back in front of him, climbing onto his lap as you bury your hand in his hair, tugging at the roots when you yank his head back again. Straddling his bulge now, you pull him far back enough so his neck is fully exposed, and you can't stop yourself from sucking, nipping, _biting_ at his lily-white throat, up to the hinge of his jaw and down to the collar bones which are just _barely_  exposed without his bow tie there. 

It's satisfying, watching the bruises begin to surface where you had focused most of your efforts. Your grip on his hair begins to slack as you catch your breath, carefully deciding your next move when he, disappointed, whimpers ' _Hero'_. Your left hand is quick to dig back into his roots, and your right hand moves to slap him. It rings loudly through the air, even louder in your ears as you see your palm-print glow on his cheek. You hadn't intended to hit him _that_ hard, but it wasn't something to mourn over, as it was evident you both had benefited from the act.

" _Shut up._ " You growl lowly, the words spilling out of you without thought. It disgusts you, being reduced to the name _he_ gave you, and on top of that being so _protective_ of it. You're reminded of when you and the other 'contestants' had first arrived, and how willing you were to fight for your name from Luna. You wouldn't let her have it, and you won't let him taint it just because he needs something to cry out while he's turned on.

"I-I'm sorry, my _sweet-_ " He chokes out as you scoot closer on his lap, pushing harder against his crotch. 

An idea sparks in your head, inspired by the satisfaction you felt from bruising him, and the arousal he experienced from your first fight. You let go of his hair, give it a little tousle, even running your hands through it a bit to fix it. You run the back of your fingernail down the side of his face, along his jaw to ease him but keep him on edge. When you reach his Adam's apple, you take him by surprise and wrap your hand 'round his throat. Your nails dig into his skin, pressing in small but deep crescents.

The Host's legs jerk beneath you as he kicks out, his delight overtaking him as he chokes out a cry and the corners of his mouth curl into a smile. Panicked, you take the bow tie from his neck, ball it up, and thrust it into his mouth. He's being too loud, _way_ too loud for him to walk out of your room and go unnoticed, and if that were to happen you'd lose the trust of the other contestants  _—_  your only sources of human companionship aside from the man purring beneath you.

As you move your body against his, he bucks his hips upwards and into you, desperate for the blessed pleasure of friction. He whines into the yellow silk as you give him what he wants, grinding your hips harder against him.

You freeze, realizing something. Something you _absolutely_  could not allow any further. 

_He's having all the fun._

" _Touch me_." You breathe, throwing one arm over his shoulder as you continue to ride his lap. You let go of his throat to take the bow tie from his mouth, but quickly latch back on once finished. He obeys, his leather-clad hands latching onto your hips, taking your cheeks into his hands and giving a tight squeeze. He caresses you through your clothing, slips his hand under the back of your shirt. The cold, unaffectionate sensation of leather against your skin causes you to arch your back, pushing your chest against his and carelessly giving him access to your throat. However instead of tearing out your jugular like the dog you've sized him up to be, he peppers kisses down your neck, lightly dragging his teeth on the surface of your skin as he goes. His kisses are thorough, almost affectionate, and you decide you've had enough.

You gently push back on his chest as you climb off of his lap, almost laughing at his disappointed whimper.

"Stand up." you order, and he eagerly obeys, anticipating your next command. You decide on mercy, the bulge in his slacks begging for release.

However, you choose to take your time in making your way down. You go back to where you left off, unbuttoning his dress shirt as you kiss from his clavicle to his chest. You rake your nails down his chest as you lower yourself unto your knees, taking notice of his not-prominent-but-still-present Apollo's belt, and how his skin is just as soft down here as it is up _there._

You struggle to unhook his slacks, impatiently yanking down his zipper after you finally get it open. You push his pants lower, at least past mid-thigh to reveal his boxer-briefs which, surprisingly, _don't_ have his face plastered all over them. You hook your fingertips in the waistband, slowly peeling them off to free his throbbing erection. He gasps a little, his mouth turned down in an almost apologetic pout as he cums before you could even properly get your hands on him.

_This is what you get for almost hooking up with a psychopath._

You wipe his semen from your eye sockets, balling your fists as your anger boils within you and you move to your feet. Without another thought, you grab him by the collar and slam him backwards into the wall, not taking notice of the ornately framed picture of himself hung behind him. The other contestants _have_ to have heard the crash and clatter that follow.

You catch your breath as your temper ceases to blind you. Your sight falls on the Host, who sits crumpled at your feet and against the wall.

Your first instinct is to smirk at your handiwork, the Host's bloodied face and dazed eyes a sign you did well. However his 'dazed' expression doesn't leave even though his hard-on does, and you begin to feel . . remorse? _What?_   This is _the Host_ you've almost killed _—_  the man who's doomed you and five strangers to die. He's the guy who led you to kill . . no,  _he's_ the one who killed Mesmer, and was planning on killing you off, too. You have _no_ reason to feel bad for harming him. And yet . .

You grimace at your purple nail polish, now stained red _—_  this is the second time this month you've gotten someone else's blood on your hands.

Snapping you from your internal crisis, he clambers to his feet, grabbing the nearest chair and dresser for support. His tie is nowhere to be found and the red hand-print from minutes ago still clings desperately to his porcelain skin.

" _Careful-_  " You say without thought, reaching out to him instinctively as his arms give under his weight and he stumbles backwards into the wall once more. He accepts the act of kindness, taking your arm and letting you guide him to the foot of the bed. He flops down, and you scan the room for something to clean him up with.

You pick up the grey maxi skirt you wore _that_  night off the floor. You shrug _—_   the hem was already stained, what's a little more blood? But to be safe, you turn it inside-out before sitting next to him and beginning to dab away at the blood trickling down his face. You fold your leg underneath yourself, grabbing his shoulder for support as you try to stop the blood from seeping further into his brown locks and down the back of his neck.

"Oh _darling_ ," he purrs through his numbed lips, rolling his neck to face you. "Have you finally begun to care for me?"

" _No,_ " you mutter through gritted teeth, disgusted by the suggestion. You try to avoid his dream-like gaze. "I'm trying to keep Prototype from _hunting me down_ and _killing_ _me_ before you do."

He hums a soft laugh, sitting obediently as you continue to clean him up. Occasionally your eyes flicker down to his, and how his gaze is fixated so intently on your face, your frustrated, furrowed eyebrows. In such a vulnerable state, you could probably take his mask off of him, in the case that it isn't permanently sewn into his skin (you bet on it to yourself one night, how else could it stay on so well without a string to tie it in the back?). You decide against it, not knowing what you'd do with his identity. What if you don't recognize him at all, or if he's just human like the rest of the contestants?

However, even as you contemplate this, your hands betray you and you find yourself slowly inching toward the corner of his mask. He's too weak right now to fight back anyway, what's the worst that could happen? But as your fingertip traces down to the black material, his hand quickly latches onto your wrist, but his touch remains light. He pouts with puppy eyes behind the mask, his bottom lip obviously more prominent than the top as he just _barely_  shakes his head.

You lock eyes with him again, and you blink hard, shaking your head as you sit back. You unwrap the skirt from your hand and throw it into his lap. 

"The bleeding stopped." You huff, looking toward the door to escape his gaze. You watch him limp out of the room, clinging to the doorway before he left but not sparing you a final glance.

You run a hand through your hair, taking a deep breath before you drop onto the bed and knock the wind from your chest. You crawl backward to your pillows, resting your head and slipping your hand underneath like usual. You shut your eyes, still struggling to find a comfortable position for your arm to support your head from beneath the pillow when you realize your knife is **gone**.

**Author's Note:**

> idk if its obvious that i wrote this in 3 hours on the same day i discovered the game  
> i even drew fanart but on paper bc i cant find my wacom  
> again please play the full game when it comes out!!  
> please please tell me what i should tag this with?? like could i tag failed blowjob or something?? is that a thing?? does cleaning up blood count as aftercare??
> 
> this is a mess why am i so scared to post this


End file.
